Like A Book
by LilyBolt
Summary: Dean isn't really one for reading. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have a favorite book... A oneshot from Dean's POV taking place shortly after 2X21 "All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1". Not a slash fiction.


**Author's Note: This oneshot is from Dean's POV, giving his thoughts on his favorite book to read. It takes place very shortly after 2X21 "All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1". **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. **

I've always been able to read my little brother like a book. When he was just a kid he was about as easy to read as those kindergarten picture books with all the cartoon images and bright colors. Well, at least to me he was.

Dad used to say Sammy was impossible to figure out, but I never thought so. If Sam was sad it was almost like I could see the big puffy dark storm clouds all over his face. If he was happy, it was like a doodle of the sun was smiling up at me. I never felt confused when I read him. I always understood him just fine.

When he got older the level of his book went up too. Instead of easy pictures it was like reading a paperback novel. And I mean a novel, not just any old chapter book. The kid was way smarter than most, and it wasn't a long road to that level. By about age ten I had to work a lot harder at reading him.

He was definitely more complex, but the task wasn't impossible. In fact it was actually pretty easy once I got the hang of it. And by the time he got to be about eighteen that paperback might as well have been worn down and tattered with how many times I'd read it. I knew every chapter by heart. He was my favorite book to read.

With all that reading it was impossible for me to miss when he was getting ready to leave for Stanford. I didn't know it was Stanford of course, but I had guessed it was college. And I could tell it was going to be a big event.

I was right.

That week I watched my dad and brother have the screaming match of the century, and then I watched Sammy walk out the door, supposedly never to return.

It was a shitty week.

A few years later I went to get him from Stanford to help me find our dad. When I saw him again for the first time in such a long time, I could tell he had changed. Not just because school had made him more...Scholastic, I guess? Anyway, the change was mostly because of the time we'd spent apart.

He wasn't the same paperback I'd watched leave a few years before. He was a hard cover novel now, all fancy and tough.

And I wasn't used to reading books like that. But if you're smart, and I sometimes like to think I am, at least when it comes to my brother…Then you know that a hardcover has a summary kept on the inside of the front sleeve. All I needed to do was get him to open up a little bit and I could read him again. Or at least get the gist of things.

And I did. It took a little time and some trust-building from both of us, but I got him to open up to me again. To be my little brother again.

After that things were great. I mean yeah, our lives still kind of sucked most of the time because demons and fate kept crapping all over us, but we were _us _again. I was reading him basically like normal.

I might have gotten a different kind of book back from Stanford, but the story was still the same. Under the harder cover he was still the Sammy I knew.

Then on May 10th of 2007 I watched that Sammy get stabbed in the back.

I watched my little brother collapse in the mud gasping and wheezing...And all that was holding him up was me, on my knees in the mud with him and telling him things would be ok. I'd patch him up somehow. The wound wasn't really that bad. I'd look out for him because it was my job and I wouldn't fail at that job. I couldn't fail him.

I fed those lies to him right up until he took his last breath, because what else was I supposed to do? Be honest? Tell him he was dying because I let him down, and I was dying right along with him? I couldn't bring myself to say it even though I knew it.

And it still broke me when he died.

His eyes were lifeless and that book I'd been reading since I was just a kid myself was suddenly nothing but blank paper. Like every word had been stolen off the pages and I knew I'd do anything to get those words back. I wanted to know how his story ended because I'd be damned before I let it end like it supposedly just had. I just didn't know I'd be damned literally.

But when push came to shove, I sold my soul for my little brother's life. And I don't regret it.

Even though I know that I still won't get to read the end of his story, since I'll be dead within the year, at least now I know there will be one. A much better one. One day he'll have a good ending, and it won't be him dying in some ghost town in the rain and the mud. He won't die in my arms while all I can do for him is lie to him about how he'll be ok. No, this time he'll _really_ be ok. And that's what matters to me.

I don't care that my story needs to end to allow his to continue.

Just as long as his isn't over yet.

**Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I genuinely appreciate feedback, so please don't be shy about leaving a review. :D **


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